


A New Empire in Rags

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He draws a great sweep of green across the paper, wrinkling it slightly with his rough motions. Severus just watches, thinking about the way his hands move. This one thing is easy, after months of nothing being easy for either of them. It's the closest he's ever come to feeling like he has something in common with Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Empire in Rags

**Author's Note:**

> Plot inspired by, stolen from, and cobbled together from a handful of Al Stewart and New Pornographers songs.

**Sirius**

Sirius is reading a Muggle motorbike magazine when there’s a knock on the door.

“My turn,” he says casually to Remus, but he grabs his wand from the end table. Death Eaters don’t usually knock, but there’s no sense getting careless.

Remus frowns. “Yeah. Be careful.”

Sirius strides over to the door, trying to listen for voices over the wind howling outside. If it’s a group, they’re in trouble. “Who is it?” he calls, raising his wand.

There’s a brief silence, then, “It’s Snape. Let me in.”

Sirius frowns. “What the hell? Moony, why—”

“I don’t know,” Remus says, “But for Merlin’s sake, open the door. He sounds terrible.”

Sirius thinks about pointing out the fact that Snape is a damn Death Eater, and that they don’t care whether or not Death Eaters are having a bad day, but he doesn’t want to venture into that territory again. Remus always gets so _stupid_ about Snape.

Sirius yanks the door open.

Snape is drenched, of course, his hair all stringy and hanging his eyes. He looks like shit.

“I need to talk to you.”

Sirius never thought he’d hear Snape say that, and certainly not in this taut, awful voice. He’s seen Snape angry, upset, scared, disgusted, and even happy, but he’s never seen him like this. Sirius tilts his head to one side. “Fuck off, Snape.”

Remus, poised awkwardly halfway out of his chair in an attempt at being a good host, straightens immediately. “No, hang on, Sirius, don’t be . . . What is it, Severus?”

Snape shoots Sirius a filthy glare and then goes right back to looking like his whole family has just died. Ha ha, only given his family, he probably wouldn’t be looking miserable about that, would he? Sirius is jolted out of contemplating Snape’s childhood home life by Snape saying, “I’m leaving the Death Eaters.”

“Do you really expect—” Sirius starts, but Remus holds up his hand.

Snape goes even paler. He’s trembling, Sirius sees, although it’s probably just from the cold. “I’m leaving them,” he repeats, “because I can’t stand what they’ve become. I joined because—it doesn’t matter why, but I didn’t want this. And I’ve had to watch Regulus get sucked further and further in, and I can’t fucking stand it.” He stops. “This isn’t easy.”

“Why did you come to us?” Sirius snarls. If Snape is trying to garner sympathy by invoking Regulus, his plan has backfired.

Snape looks at him blankly. “I didn’t. I came to Lupin. Because I knew no one else would _listen_ to me.” He doesn’t turn to Remus. “Because he knows what it’s like to be a monster.”

Sirius is about to say something, or to hit Snape, but Remus stops him.

“I do,” Remus says softly. “Although it didn’t happen to me because of my own choices.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Snape says in a low voice. “I—I’ve run out. Just. Are you going to kill me?”

Even Sirius doesn’t say anything. Snape’s pathetic, that’s what he is.

“Of course we’re not,” Remus says swiftly, crossing to Snape and rubbing his shoulder. “We need to get you some dry clothes and talk about this. We’re always looking for more people for the Order, you know.”

“Hang on,” Sirius cuts in, “This is ridiculous. He’s _evil_ , Moony. He’s a murderer.”

Remus doesn’t even look at him. “If we didn’t give murders second chances, we’d be as bad as them.”

Sirius wonders how anyone can actually think that way. There must be something very wrong with Remus, but it’s something very wrong that he’s decided to pretty much marry, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“All right,” Sirius says after a moment of watching Remus fuss over Snape and try calming him down, “But why should he join the Order? I’m certainly not saying I trust him, but we’re actually got a Death Eater saying he’s going to join up. We could have an inside man.”

Remus frowns. “I’m getting him some dry clothes. But I don’t think that’s a good idea. Try not to kill each other.” He disappears into the bedroom.

Snape won’t look at Sirius. He’s twisting his hands nervously, wringing water from the sleeves of his robes onto Sirius’s nice dry floor. “So you think I should become a spy,” Snape says after a minute.

“I think you think so, too,” Sirius says, shrugging. “Come on, Snape, you’re not exactly a joiner. You’d hate the Order. Besides, you’ve got a chance to be _useful_ for once.” He looks at the end table rather than at Snape. “I’m not trying to be an ass, actually.”

“I know,” Snape mutters. “For once.”

Thankfully, they’re saved by Remus’s return with a blanket and dry clothes. “Here you are,” he says, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. Sirius is familiar enough with what Remus sounds like when he’s lying through his teeth to know that he’s just as on-edge as Sirius is.

“Thanks.” Snape takes the clothes, looking a little lost. “I need to decide what I’m . . .”

“But you already know,” Remus says softly. Sirius hates that thing he does, knowing everyone better than they know themselves, especially when that includes Snape.

Snape gives Remus a long look. “If I can’t spy, then I’m worse than useless.”

While Sirius appreciates the stunningly accurate picture Snape is painting of his usefulness, Remus cuts in, “Don’t say that. Severus. You’d be brilliant as a full member of the Order. Don’t lie, you’ve thought about it.” There’s something hard in his voice, something desperate, as if this is a conversation they’ve had before, or as if there’s something Sirius is missing.

“I have,” Snape says, very stubbornly not looking at Sirius.

“And we could use a spy,” Remus presses, “but not you. You know that position would be too dangerous. You’ve got a problem with the dark arts, and we all know that. It’s not safe.”

Snape snorts. “You act as if I’m an addict.” He pauses. “All right. Fine. I’ll speak to Dumbledore.”

Sirius sighs. He’s not going to change Remus’s mind, because on the few occasions Remus chooses to be stubborn, nothing can sway him.

“Good,” Remus says briskly. “And what are you going to do about Regulus?”

Snape shakes his head, sending water droplets flying. “I can’t leave him. Lupin, he’s the reason I’m doing this. But I can’t exactly come home to a Death Eater every night. I need some time.”

“That’s fine,” Remus says. “Fine. Just don’t think about it right now.”

That’s practically Remus’s motto, Sirius thinks, throwing himself back down in his armchair.

*

Infuriatingly, Dumbledore accepts Snape’s service. Even more infuriatingly, Snape becomes quite an asset to the Order, or at least that’s what everyone keeps saying. Sirius does his best to avoid being assigned to missions with Snape if he can help it, even when half the Order keeps saying how Snape is so _talented_ and so _fast_ and so _clever_. Sirius isn’t used to Slytherins being good at things, and he’s especially not used Snape being anything besides a useless little bastard.

Remus comes home one day from assignment looking especially worn. “Sirius,” he says.

Sirius, only just home from a reconnaissance job himself, is instantly on-edge. “What? What happened?”

“Severus can’t find your brother.”

A chill goes down Sirius’s spine, but he doesn’t let it show. “So what?” he asks coldly. “He’s probably off at a Death Eater meeting. I don’t know how that even fucking works, Snape living with a Death Eater. Regulus must _know_ he’s switched sides. Why hasn’t he cursed him in his bed? I don’t trust Snape not to—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Remus grits out. He never shuts Sirius up.

Sirius waits.

“Regulus loves him. They love each other. So it doesn’t matter.”

Sirius wonders if there’s an implicit accusation there. _People who are in love are supposed to trust each other, Sirius_. He can’t help it that no one trusts each other anymore. “Yeah? And exactly why do you keep on defending Snape? Honestly, it’s like you love him.”

He knows as soon as he’s said it that it’s a mistake, because Remus’s face goes instantly shuttered. “That’s not fair,” he says softly.

“Well, no,” Sirius says. “Not really. Sorry.”

Remus’ face stays unreadable. “Let’s just forget about it. The point is, Regulus is gone. He’s been gone for a couple of days, apparently.”

“I don’t care,” Sirius snaps. “He’s a Death Eater. He deserves it.” He feels sick.

Remus just looks at him. “Yeah. Okay.”

*

Some days the war isn’t so terrible. Sirius and Remus both end up with a day off at the same time, which is rare, and they take the time to make up for the tension that’s been in the air for months. The search for Regulus is still underway, with Sirius hearing news secondhand from Andromeda about how hard his Death Eaters cousins are searching.

Tonight, though, is for other things. It’s for him and for Remus. Their house, a little cottage out on the plains and well out of the city—and away from the war—is quiet under a safe half moon.

Sirius hates talking out their problems. He can’t imagine how James can stand Lily, who always wants to _communicate_. At least Remus generally avoids Sirius talks at least as violently as Sirius does, and tonight is no exception. It’s three in the morning, and they’ve been in bed together for the last four hours. Remus never gets like this, but he’s like this now. Sirius thinks maybe it’s the half moon. Sometimes that seems to do strange things to him.

“It’s late,” Remus murmurs sleepily into Sirius’s shoulder, raising his head from sucking lightly on Sirius’s collarbone. “We should sleep.” He doesn’t sound like he means it, though.

Sirius smiles, slow and lazy. “We can sleep when we’re dead.” But right now they’re alive, and together, and young.

Remus makes a little sound and shifts closer. “Do you ever wonder,” he asks, “what our lives would have been like if we’d been civilians? You know, if we hadn’t joined up with the war effort?”

Sirius touches Remus’s hip where a small bruise in the shape of Sirius’s fingers has formed. “No. It wasn’t a choice. And I know things can be awful. I worry about Prongs and Wormtail. I hate that this thing with Regulus happened. But we’re not _cowards_.”

Remus shivers and leans into Sirius’s touch. “We volunteered for this. Anything that happens, it’s because we offered.” His mouth quirks, wry and apologetic. “It’s sort of a horrible thought.”

But Sirius won’t let anything be horrible tonight. He looks across the room, through the open window out across the windswept plain. “This’ll be okay.”

Remus pushes his face into the curve of Sirius’s shoulder and nods.

*

Some days are much, much worse than anything Sirius has ever experienced before. He’ll never forget the day the search for his brother was called off. That was nearly two years ago now, and he still can’t stop thinking about it.

Then there’s the day he gets word about Peter.

“It’s about Pettigrew.”

Sirius is sick of Snape showing up at their door unannounced with bad news. It’s getting old.

Remus’s forehead creases like he’s trying to work something out. “What? Has something happened?”

Sirius can feel his whole body tense up. If the Death Eaters have . . .

“You can’t trust him,” Snape says shortly.

Remus gives a little sigh, just sounding utterly defeated. “Why?”

“ _Why?_ ” Sirius snaps. “What do you mean _why?_ You should be saying _no!_ It’s not fucking possible! You know, Snape, you’re disgusting, coming here with your pathetic attempts to turn us against—”

“ _Please _,” Snape grates out, and Sirius stops, shocked into silence. “Understand,” Snape says softly. “He’s the Potters’ secret keeper. If we don’t move against him, they could die. They’re in danger every day.” He darts out a hand with a short, jerky motion and leans against the table.__

“It’s fucking disgusting, the way you’re obsessed with Lily,” Sirius says hollowly. He feels ill. _If Snape’s right._ Sirius can’t complete the thought.

“I’ve received intelligence that he’s been seen with the Dark Lord,” Snape says stiffly, ignoring the taunt, as if he’s not accusing one of Sirius’s best friends of being a traitor.

“Voldemort,” Sirius says under his breath, but it’s more of a reflex than anything else.

Snape flinches visibly, and Sirius finds himself wondering, completely against his will, just how much the work he’s been doing has taken out of him. “Yes,” Snape says finally. “Apparently he told the Dark Lord that he’d been made secret keeper. What a _stupid_ idea, by the way.”

“I thought it was Sirius,” Remus says softly. “It should have been Sirius.” His voice starts to rise. “Sirius, why didn’t you _tell_ me that Peter—”

“Because I didn’t trust you!” Sirius snaps, slightly horrified with himself for saying what he’s been thinking for _months_ now. “We knew someone was passing information, and I thought—Oh, I thought . . .” He buries his face in his hands. “Fuck, Moony.”

Remus touches Sirius’s shoulder tentatively, and Sirius looks up to see his face cold and closed. “I—It’s all right. War does strange things to people. This’ll be okay.” He casts a helpless glance at Snape, as if asking for confirmation.

“I’m sorry about Pettigrew,” Snape says shortly.

Remus shakes his head. “I . . . I thought about it. I mean, I thought it might be anyone.” He glances sidelong at Sirius. “Everyone but you.”

Sirius flinches. “I, Moony, I’m sorry.” They don’t have time to sort this out now. They’ve got James to worry about, and Lily, and oh, the _baby_. And then there’s Peter. Sirius feels numb with rage. How could he possibly—And how could Sirius have been so _blind_ \--if Lily and James die, it’s his fault.

Snape jerks his head. “I have to go.” He turns to leave.

“Why didn’t you go to Dumbledore?” Sirius says in a voice that sounds low and terrible in his own ears.

Snape turns and just looks at him like he’s stupid. “I did. But I thought I should tell you in person. It’s the least I could do.”

And he goes. Sirius doesn’t know how he _feels_. Snape doing things for them (for Remus, let’s be honest), Peter betraying them ( _maybe_ ), James and Lily in danger because two of their best friends are a coward and an idiot . . . Nothing is ever going to be easy again.

After that, Sirius is made James and Lily’s secret keeper.

Then he’s taken by Death Eaters. He doesn’t remember much after that.

*

It’s April 25. It’s been nearly five months since the end of the war, and the trial lasted for all of it. They’re all exhausted in every possible way, but that goes without saying. As Remus pulls the Ministry car up outside the little house in the country, Sirius feels ill with the broken mess they’re carting into this neighborhood. He’s slumped against the window in the backseat, looking at nothing. He doesn’t even stir when the car stops. Snape, in the seat next to Remus, is practically vibrating with suppressed tension.

Remus turns the car off and gets out. Sirius is grateful that Remus makes sure to shut the door gently. He taps the window next to Sirius’s face. “Sirius.”

Sirius looks up a little, shrugs, and moves away from the window so Remus can open the door. Remus looks past his shoulder, and Sirius wonders why Remus won’t look at him. He’s got plenty of reasons to choose from.

“This’ll be okay,” Remus says. His voice sounds scratchy, and Sirius realizes he hasn’t spoken since he picked the two of them up at the courthouse.

Snape is already getting their trunks out of the boot, and Sirius hears him make a noise of disbelief under his breath. Sirius doesn’t make a habit of agreeing with Snape, but he thinks Remus is being a little ambitious.

He wants to get out of the car on his own, to prove to Remus that he’s all right, but he can’t make himself. His limbs feel dead and there’s the same flaring pain behind his eyes that’s been there for half a year. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath when Remus has to take his arm and help him up the path to the house.

“Shut up,” Remus says a little desperately. “Just . . . easy. Take it easy.”

Sirius is a little surprised to see that the house is already pretty well put together. Remus’s tattered old chair is in the small living room, there’s silverware (not real silver) in the drawers, and Remus’s old paintings are stacked in one of the bedrooms.

“Snape isn’t staying, right?” Sirius says a little fuzzily, mostly just to be contentious.

“You know he is,” Remus says patiently. “And Sirius . . . I can’t. They want me in London as soon as possible.”

Sirius blinks at him. That’s news to him. “What? What are you saying?” He can feel himself starting to panic, and he hates it.

Snape pauses, a small bag still in his hand. He looks as though he’s trying not to listen.

Remus sighs, looking much older than twenty . . . whatever he is. Sirius has lost track. “Sirius . . . I wanted to wait a day or two, until you’d gotten settled in, but they’re asking for me tomorrow. The Ministry wants me on the council that’s putting everything back together. I’m not sure why. I must have done something right.” He smiles that crooked, hopeful smile, and it should break Sirius’s heart, but it doesn’t feel like anything.

“And you’re leaving Black alone with me?” Snape says. He sounds horrified.

Remus gives him a look Sirius can’t understand, either because he’s falling apart or because Remus and Snape will always have some sort of understanding he doesn’t get to be part of. It isn’t fair.

“You signed up for this,” Remus says quietly. “You told the court you’d take care of him. This is how it works, Severus.”

Snape shuts his mouth. “I’m not causing trouble,” he says. “I owe you, Lupin. You certainly vouched for me enough times, with the Order.” Lest anyone think he’s doing this for Sirius, of course.

Remus laughs, and even though it sounds forced, it’s a relief to hear. “Too bad that didn’t involve any customary binding rituals, eh?”

“Yes, I certainly can’t imagine your wanting to be bound to me,” Snape says. His voice is bitter and awful as always, but something in it makes Sirius ache.

“I feel ill,” Sirius says suddenly, because it’s suddenly true. “I just want . . . I need to sit down.”

Remus’s face goes tight and the lines—Merlin, he’s too young to have that many lines—become more pronounced. “Yes, of course, sorry. Selfish—I was—Let me.” He takes Sirius’s arm and guides him to the couch, his touch not quite gentle enough to make Sirius feel condescended to. He’s reminded violently of why he loved Remus in the first place.

Once Sirius is settled, Remus says, more to Snape than Sirius, “I’ll leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be away a while. It could be months, I’m sorry.”

“But you’ll visit—” Sirius starts.

At the same time, Snape says, “But you’ll be able to come—”

Remus gives them both a tired smile. “I wish I could. But this Ministry thing, it’s top secret. You’ll understand if the government is feeling a little nervous right now.”

“About me, you mean,” Sirius growls.

“About us,” Snape corrects bitterly. “We’re both too much of a mess, if you’ll recall.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, “Right.”

Remus frowns. “You know I don’t feel that way, of course. But they need me. And you need . . .”

“Space,” Snape supplies. He leans against the arm of the couch, too close for Sirius’s comfort. “I think perhaps Black would heal faster without you here to worry over him.”

Again, Sirius knows Snape isn’t saying this for his sake.

Remus goes a little pale and nods. “I really am sorry, Sirius. I mean, right, I’ve said. But Severus is the best potion-maker there is, right now. If anyone can get you back on your feet, he can.”

Sirius’s headache intensifies as if to prove Remus wrong.

*

Sirius spends the night in the room with the paintings, while Snape takes the other bedroom and Remus takes the couch. There’s space in Sirius’s bed, but by some unspoken consensus, they seem to decide that Sirius is best left on his own. Then again, he can see from the dry, distant look in Remus’s eyes that he’s warring with himself over whether or not Sirius should ever be alone again. It’s sweet.

Sirius doesn’t sleep, really. He watches the moonlight through the curtain as it slants down across the paintings. All of the pictures are vague—something that looks like flowers, maybe a dark landscape, no people.

He can feel peace in this place, this perfect little room in its perfect little house in its perfect little town. It feels as though the peace is utterly dissociated from him, though, or as if he’s completely dissociated from himself. He can tell there’s something he’s supposed to be feeling, but he can’t seem to quite connect up with it.

He doesn’t dare connect with anything, because he knows that if he does, as soon as he falls asleep the blankness behind his eyes will explode into nightmares.

*

The next morning, Remus is gone, leaving only a note.

 _Padfoot—_

I didn’t want to wake you. I know this is terribly difficult. Severus will take care of it. I wish I could, I really do. You know that. I’m dreadful at writing notes, you know that, too. I hope this is enough, for now. I’ll try to floo in a bit, but I don’t know how tight they’re keeping security. I know I’m probably not doing the right thing in any of this, but you need Severus’s potion-making skills. You know I’ve always been rubbish at it.

-M

Sirius crumples the note and leaves it on the table. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything. He’s so used to the jumble of his head now, and to the jumble of his body, that he’s stopped taking stock of the ways in which they aren’t working today.

The worst part is, he isn’t sure how much of it’s from the Death Eaters and how much of it’s from being under Ministry guard. He doesn’t believe in heroes anymore. Then again, Remus is in London, doing something he doesn’t have to do.

Sirius thinks about making himself breakfast, but everything feels overwhelming. He wants nothing more than to revert to dog form, but he wouldn’t try it with Snape in the house. Snape, fucking _Snape_ , why’d it have to be him? Sirius knows, though, that if it hadn’t been Snape, it would have been no one. And Snape’s good at potion-making.

Then the door opens and Snape comes in, looking exhausted. “Oh, Black, you’re awake,” he says.

Sirius shoots him a half-hearted glare. “Yeah. Thought you were still in bed.” He wonders if Snape read Remus’s note.

Snape shakes his head. “I felt I would be remiss to sleep when there was so much to do. We might as well get started now, Black.”

“Your concern for my wellbeing isn’t exactly convincing,” Sirius mutters.

“I’m trying to _help_ ,” Snape practically snarls. He yanks out one of the rickety wooden chairs and sits down abruptly.

Sirius tries to feel something other than numb, but he can’t. They’ve been dosing him with Snape’s so-called medicine since they recovered him, and it hasn’t done any bloody good yet, as far as he can tell. All it’s doing is making him feel nauseated in addition to in pain and wrong in his skin and head.

“No thanks,” he snarls, feeling completely justified.

Snape looks him in the eye, clearly trying very hard to be patient. It must take quite an effort. “Look, as far as we know, this is the _only_ thing that will work. Believe me, I’m not happy about it. At these levels, the doses I’m giving you could easily be doing more harm than good. But if I don’t do it, you’re not going to get better, and I have to try. Not for you, you understand.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Sirius wonders if Snape is even trying to tell himself that it’s _because it’s right_. He’s never done things because they were right. He’s done them for Lily and Regulus and now Remus.

Sirius shakes his hair into his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Snape directly. “Gosh, you really should have been a healer.”

Snape’s face does something complicated. “I think not.” Neither of them has forgotten how many people Snape has tortured and killed.

“So . . . potion?” Sirius says, feeling oddly chagrined. Snape took on a lot when he took on Sirius. Sirius can acknowledge that without being grateful.

Snape nods sharply. “It’s all ready.” He stands and goes to the cupboard, removing an ordinary mug full of greenish-black liquid. Sirius already hates the taste of the stuff and he’s going to have to endure a lot more of it, it seems.

“I altered the recipe,” Snape says softly. “This ought to heal you faster. _Ought_ to. It’s very, very strong, though, so be ready. And I added something to make it taste better.”

Sirius gives him a look. “Why?” His voice comes out flat and not teasing as he intended.

Snape actually flushes. “I’m not trying to kill you, Black. We might as well make this pleasant.”

It will never be pleasant, of course. Sirius can recognize the difference between Snape doing something nice for someone and taking pride in his work.

Sirius can live with that. He drinks, and the stuff tastes vaguely of mint. It’s nice. Less nice is the instant, dizzying head rush that nearly knocks him out of his chair. “That’s—That _is_ strong. Stronger.”

Snape nods, frowning. “I know. We can’t keep doing this forever. You need to get _better_. Preferably sooner rather than later.”

As if Sirius has a choice in the matter. “Yeah, I’m _trying_ , Snivellus.”

Snape just snorts. “Oh, please. Not that.”

Sirius must be pretty in bad shape if Snape isn’t even rising to the bait.

Snape confirms. “We need to get you a new set of robes, I’d imagine. You’ve lost an astounding amount of weight.” His upper lip curls slightly. “Not quite the Quidditch star you once were, at any rate.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius mutters.

Snape sighs and pushes the chair back. “I’m not sure going to Diagon Alley is what either of us needs right now, though.”

It takes Sirius a second to process this, but Snape is right. A war hero and a fuck-up. Just like they’ve always been. They probably weren’t ever fit for polite society. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I don’t really feel up to that.”

Snape nods. “A Muggle place, then. Yes?”

Sirius wishes he’d stop being so fucking _careful_ about everything. “Yeah,” he says again. “Sure. I used to really like Muggle clothes. I could use some jeans or something.” Talking even that much is exhausting, and he’s been doing pretty well so far. He’d rather be out there in the fresh air than cooped up again, though. He got claustrophobic even before the Death Eaters. He remembers Grimmauld Place and then he remembers Regulus and what happened after, and then suddenly he’s tipping in his chair, barely conscious.

“Black,” Snape says harshly, grabbing Sirius’s arm.

But Sirius isn’t conscious anymore.

 **Severus**

“Where are you going?”

Severus turns from locking the door of his shabby flat. “Regulus? You’re home early.”

Regulus arches his eyebrows. “ _Yeah_. And where are you going? There isn’t an Order meeting _again_ , is there?”

Severus is still deeply unused to the idea that he can trust his Death Eater boyfriend with his new job. Of course, both of them have to pretend they don’t know where the other one is. It feels a bit like school all over again, only ramped up in importance. “There is, actually. And I’m about to be late.” He doesn’t mean to be short with Regulus, but they can’t stand here chatting on the stoop for hours.

“Not apparating?” Regulus asks. “I notice you’ve locked the door instead of going from inside. It must be close.”

Severus hates this thing Regulus does, proving he’s smart enough to see through whatever Severus is doing. Not that he’d ever use it against the Order—Severus needs to believe this—but he seems to have some psychotic need to prove he could.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” he says stiffly. In fact, it’s a good six blocks away, but apparating into Order meetings always makes him feel sick. He’d rather not draw attention to himself.

“Unless you’re actually off to Lupin’s again,” Regulus says carelessly.

“What?”

Regulus shrugs and makes as if to go past Severus. “You go there a lot. I just thought maybe that’s where you were going tonight.”

“I told you,” Severus snaps, unduly annoyed, “I’ve been doing missions with him.”

“And my brother?” Regulus’s eyes are piercing.

Severus bites his tongue. “I’ll see you after the meeting,” he says.

Two weeks later, Regulus is gone.

*

The war ends abruptly, cut short in late November when the Death Eaters finally get Black to talk. Severus feels, illogically, as though he isn’t ready for the war to be over. What he really is, he decides, is not ready for real life to resume again. He’s never been very good at it.

Before real life, however, there are the loose ends the war leaves.

Dumbledore calls Severus into his office two days after the Dark Lord’s fall and says, “We need to discuss something, Severus.”

Severus would rather not. Discussions with Dumbledore almost always end in Severus having to do something that seems likely to get him killed. “Yes, Headmaster?” He tries not to sneer. It’s been a hard few days, what with . . . everything. It’s been a hard few _years_.

“They are having a trial.” Dumbledore, Severus realizes, sounds incredibly weary. “For Sirius Black.”

Severus frowns. “What? Black was kidnapped by Death Eaters. He nearly _died_. He’s been in St. Mungo’s for days. What’s—”

Dumbledore holds up a hand. “The Ministry,” he says, “feels that Sirius may have willingly given up the Potters’ location.”

Severus feels a flare of shock, nearly of anger, but he pushes it down. It’s an odd thing to care about, so he won’t. “Why?” he says carefully.

Dumbledore shakes his head. “The Minister is enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic. And you know how Barty Crouch gets, as well. I advised _strongly_ against this trial, at least until his condition has improved, but they want it sorted out.”

Severus nods stiffly. “What can I do?” For Dumbledore, he will do almost anything.

“Given how . . . zealous Barty is, I doubt we can forgo this trial indefinitely. But . . .” He frowns. “Perhaps you could give your medical opinion and at least manage to have it postponed?”

Severus knows his medical opinion still isn’t much good, but after the few helpful stunts he pulled during the last two years of the war, they might appreciate him a bit. He is, after all, one of the only really skilled potion-makers left alive. “Of course,” he says. “I had hoped to get a look at him sooner. You know, if I can see what they’ve done to him, I might be able to do something about it.” He doesn’t add that he knows the various tortures and truth-extraction methods of the Death Eaters very intimately. That is, after all, why Dumbledore is asking him. “Of course,” he says. “Do they really trust me?”

“Well,” Dumbledore says gently, “You do happen to be something of a war hero, Severus, although I have always detested that term.”

Severus is entirely unused to this. After twenty-odd years of his life being nothing but misery and distrust, now he’s being treated like royalty because pulled off a few successful missions and saved James and Lily Potter’s stupid baby. He didn’t even mean to. He meant to save her.

Of course, those motives are so deeply selfish that he can’t talk to anyone about them.

The part of his life—and it was a large that—made up of nothing but Lily has just fallen away, and he’s left with a void. He’s used to angry and bitterness and jealousy, but now there’s a great cavity of nothing in his chest whenever he thinks of her. It’s the same with Regulus. He won’t make that mistake again.

*

When Severus arrives at the hospital, Lupin is pacing the hall, looking pale and worn. Severus hasn’t seen him since delivering the news of the Dark Lord’s fall.

“Lupin,” he says as gently as he dares.

Lupin’s head jerks around, and he stares blankly at Severus for a second before relaxing into at least feigned ease. “Ah, Severus. I’m sorry. I’m jumpy. I thought maybe the healers . . .”

Severus shakes his head. “Sorry. Is he . . .?” He is so, so bad at this.

“Asleep.” Lupin nods, pale. “They wouldn’t let me . . .” He bites his lip. “Well. No sense complaining.”

Severus thinks for a second, and then he realizes. “Oh. Only family’s allowed in.” It’s easy to say. It shouldn’t be. He’s been in this situation, although for different reasons, and it’s horrible.

Lupin goes even paler. “Yes.” He buries his face in his hands. “Fuck, yes. We would have been, but . . .”

Severus has rarely heard Lupin swear. “There’s a law,” he says, “isn’t there?”

Lupin nods. “Because of me. Yes.”

Severus can’t stand it anymore. He can’t do this, he can’t offer genuine consolation, not now, not to Lupin, not over this. “I have to go.” And he flees into the ward.

Black isn’t conscious when Severus goes to see him. Severus is not surprised. Leaving him conscious would be cruel. When he goes in, the healer lets him in without question, thankfully. She must have known he was coming. Black is lying in bed, his ragged black hair limp on the pillow, his face still marked with fresh cuts. Severus frowns. The physical wounds aren’t what he’s looking for.

He sits by the bed and takes out his wand before lifting one of Black’s eyelids and entering his mind. He hates to. At any time, he hates to.

He’s in there a long time.

The court grants a postponement of the trial.

*

In March, the trial starts. Dumbledore has been arguing against it for the entire intervening winter, but Dumbledore has a lot of things to take care of, and he’s tired. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s also still upset about the baby, who is living with his Muggle family in Surrey until the mess with Black is sorted out.

And again, Severus finds himself in the horribly strange position of defending Lupin and Black’s rights. He’s in the anteroom outside the courtroom, talking to Barty Crouch.

“Why isn’t Lupin here?” Severus spits. “He’s the man’s _partner_ , for fuck’s sake.” He is so tired of fighting about everything, and this fight doesn’t even matter, at least not to him, but he can’t stop having it. He can’t even begin to understand why.

Crouch looks at him, shocked. “What? Snape, that’s hardly appropriate.”

Severus realizes he’s shaking with rage. “Appropriate? I don’t know or care if it’s _appropriate_ , but it’s true. They’re practically married.”

Couch sighs heavily. “Now, Snape, you know there are laws regarding—”

“ _It’s not the point!_ ” Severus knows that if he hits Crouch now, things will go very badly for everyone, but he can barely stop himself. Restraint has never been his strong suit, and lately he’s been worn too thin to care even as much as he used to about keeping up appearances.

“Enough,” Crouch says. “I’m late for the trial.”

Inside, the room is nearly empty, unlike every other trial Severus has been forced to sit through in the last few months. Everyone there is completely necessary. (Except for the one person who’s really necessary, who isn’t there.)

They must have some sense of decency, because Black isn’t chained to the chair. He’s just sitting there, staring blankly into midair.

Severus turns away, too tired to muster up any remaining vindictive pleasure at seeing Black hurt. However this goes, he doesn’t want to see it. But he’s been medicating Black for months, and they wanted him here.

When Severus is finally called to the stand, Crouch’s eyes bore through him, clearly still focused on their earlier argument. “Your testament is important, of course, Snape. You’ve been inside his head more than anyone.”

Severus nods sharply. “Yes. What’s the question?”

Crouch frowns. “From your own observations inside this man’s mind, setting aside your personal feelings about him, would you say that he gave up the location of Lily and James Potter’s house of his own free will, or under duress?”

Severus tries very hard not to bristle. He feels ill. They haven’t seen what he’s seen in Black’s head. “As I am sure the court is aware, a secret-keeper cannot give up his or her secret under duress. Veritaserum and legilimency don’t work. It _must_ be of the subject’s free will. However—” He raises a hand to cut Crouch off, feeling smug about it. “I believe that Black’s mind and body were broken beyond the point of his being able to contain the secret.” The details are all in his report. He won’t repeat them here.

Crouch nods. “That will be all.”

Severus sits, feeling dizzy. If Black goes to Azkaban for this, the world really will be wrong. His _personal feeling_ about Black aside, of course. He doesn’t know when he started caring about right and wrong instead of precision and sloppiness, and it makes hopeless anger flare in his chest.

The trial lasts for another week after that. It shouldn’t.

Severus suspects that Dumbledore, who is looking especially tired, must have done some talking to Crouch, because when Crouch stands to give the verdict, he keeps glancing at the Headmaster. He clears his throat three times before speaking. “The court has decided,” he says, “that Sirius Black will not be held responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter.”

Severus can practically hear the sigh of relief that goes through the courtroom. They don’t have to be monsters today. Black’s face doesn’t change.

“However,” Crouch says, and Black’s head snaps up. “However, I think we can all agree that Black is not fit to simply be released on his own. His mind is still volatile. He may still have some of the Death Eaters’ programming in his head. So the court hereby rules that he be released into the Spell Damage ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical—”

Severus shoots to his feet. “No!” he snaps. _Idiot_ , he shouts in his head. _Why are you doing this? What’s wrong with you? You hate him, he hates you, and Lupin will--_. He can feel Black’s eyes on him. “That’s not acceptable. Mr. Crouch, please. I have been treating Black for months, and what he needs is _not_ more time in a psych ward. That’s not going to help.” _Help who?_ he thinks. _Black? Lupin? Me?_

“So what would you suggest?” Crouch says coldly. “Is there anyone here who will vouch for him? Anyone who will take him into their custody?” There’s a brief pause. “I thought not.”

Severus looks around the courtroom. Damn it, why couldn’t they have let Lupin in, _why_ —“I will,” he says, standing again. _What?_ he thinks. But Lupin isn’t here to say these things, so Severus says them for him.

Crouch looks dour. “You? Are you certain? This is no small thing you would be taking on, Snape. And you would be responsible for him.”

“I said I would,” Severus says stiffly, refusing to look at Black. “Can we be done with this charade?”

“Not quite yet,” Crouch says. “I think some sort of assurance is in order. A binding ritual.” His face lights up, all malice and misdirected justice. “Yes, a binding ritual. So we can be certain that you’ll be the one responsible for him.”

Severus glances at Dumbledore, but there’s no help there. Oddly, Dumbledore is smiling. He gives Severus an almost imperceptible nod. “ _Fuck_ ,” Severus mutters. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He thinks there might be something genuinely wrong with him.

Crouch looks surprised, but he nods agreement. “After this session is adjourned, then.”

“And what about the child?” Severus realizes Dumbledore has spoken. “Lily and James’s son, Barty. What will happen to him? He’s living with his Muggle relatives, but perhaps, given this ruling . . .”

“Out of the question,” Crouch snaps. “We will _not_ send a child off with—with such a _mess_.”

“But Remus Lupin is not a mess,” Dumbledore says softly.

“No,” Crouch says, “But neither is he related to the child.” The other truth about Lupin hangs in the air unspoken.

Dumbledore frowns, but he says nothing.

When they leave the courtroom, Severus practically runs into Lupin, who is huddled miserably in the corner outside, shielding himself from the high spring wind with a thin jacket. He looks up immediately, his face blank. “Severus? What happened? Is it over?”

“They found him innocent,” Severus says shortly. “Thankfully they’re not complete idiots. But they want him kept in St. Mungo’s. Indefinitely, as far as I can tell. They were willing to release him into someone’s custody if anyone offered.”

Lupin opens his mouth.

Severus doesn’t give him a chance. “It’s idiotic that they weren’t allowed in, Lupin. We both know that. So I offered.”

Lupin doesn’t say anything for a second. When he does speak, it’s entirely unexpected. “ _Why?_ ”

Severus frowns. “You’re welcome.”

“No, I’m incredibly grateful of course, I just—Severus, you hate him. No, look, it doesn’t matter. Just—Thank you.”

“Mm,” Severus murmurs, embarrassed. Lupin looks awful, though, and he doesn’t have the heart to say anything cutting. “Of course, I want your help with Black. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

Lupin nods. “Good. I think maybe we can help him, together. And to be honest, I’d rather not be alone with him right now. It’s awful, isn’t it?” Before giving Severus a chance to answer, he adds, “Oh, did they say what’s being done about Harry?”

Severus swallows. “I’m afraid they think he’s better off with the Muggles for a while.”

“They—they won’t give him to me?” Lupin looks shocked. “What? Sirius is his godfather. I’m—I’m Sirius’s—What do you _mean?_ ”

Severus thinks hazily that he’s never seen Lupin like this, or at least not very often. “I tried to tell them.”

Lupin smiles weakly. “I forget, sometimes. I do. What they think about me. Sometimes, I’m just so _tired_. Well. Never mind. Nice cup of tea and forget about it, eh? We’ll get it sorted.” It’s as though he’s running on automatic.

Severus feels awful. “Well. At least let me buy you a chocolate bar on the way. They’ve offered us Ministry cars and money to put Black up somewhere.”

*

It’s April 26th, 9:00 at night. Black is finally crawling back to consciousness in the little bed Severus left him in. The levels of medicine in his body are still worrying, but Severus doesn’t think that’s why he passed out.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re too dark. “Uh,” he says. “Did I . . .? Sorry.”

Severus shrugs irritably. “It doesn’t matter. While you were asleep, I went and got your bloody clothes.” He tosses a bag across the bed. “Black jeans. I thought you’d like that sort of thing.” _What? he asks again, silently._

Sirius frowns. “Yeah. I do. Thanks. I used to buy when I was fourteen or so, because it drove my mum mad.”

“Charming. I also took the liberty of buying some other things while I was out. Food, for one. We’ve got to eat something, after all. And some art supplies.”

Sirius drags himself into a sitting position, grimacing as he does so. “Art supplies? Why?”

Severus was dreading this part. Helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped is exhausting. “It wouldn’t kill you to try something other than the potions I’ve been dosing you with. At least half the damage is in your head. I thought maybe some . . . art therapy.” He grimaces. It’s a desperate idea, but he’s got to have Black fixed up before Lupin gets back. Lupin, who _left_ him here with this wreck.

To his surprise, Black doesn’t say anything, he just nods.

*

Severus smooths a hand over the surface of the table in the small kitchen, looking at the plain white paper he has laid out. It doesn’t matter, of course, if the table gets paint on it. He can just enchant it away. He has the sense, however, that it might be best to avoid even small magic for a while. The little cottage could do without the crackling tension of magic until Black is less precarious. The last thing he needs is a mad Black on his hands.

“Finger paints?” Black sounds disgusted.

“I apologize,” Severus sneers. “I thought it was about your level.”

Black nods amiably enough, perhaps satisfied by this routine banter. “’m not sure I really feel up to oil paints, anyhow.”

Black admitting weakness of any kind is a foreign concept, and it’s one that unsettles Severus. He’s going to have to get to know a whole new man, when he would rather not know him at all. This was not what he signed up for. “Well,” he says uncomfortably, “I’m sure you’ll manage all right with these.” He hates the foreign sound of the words in his mouth, so he adds, “Hardly comparable to your lover’s art, though.”

Black shoots him a glare. “Rot in hell.” His voice goes a little ragged, though, and he stops there.

He draws a great sweep of green across the paper, wrinkling it slightly with his rough motions. Severus just watches, thinking about the way his hands move. This one thing is easy, after months of nothing being easy for either of them. It’s the closest he’s ever come to feeling like he has something in common with Black.

Black ruins it, though, when he speaks. “I would have died, rather than betray them,” he says dully.

The question on Severus’s lips has been on the lips of the entire Wizarding world since the Potters’ deaths. “What did it, then? What finally broke you?” He doesn’t try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“It was Regulus,” Black murmurs, watching his own hands as they streak color over the paper, blue and green mingling now in a sickly color.

Severus is still never prepared to hear the name. “Regulus?” he asks, his voice sticking in his throat. Regulus, who lived with him for over a year. Regulus, who was never found.

Black nods, watching the paint and not Severus. “They brought him in. Only it wasn’t him. His skin—” His voice breaks. “It was an Inferius.”

A bone-deep chill goes through Severus, and he feels suddenly dizzy. “I—Oh.”

They’re both silent for a moment, Black swirling his fingers in the paint, Severus wondering if he dares ask another question, or if he’ll be sick if he tries.

“Something just . . . snapped,” Black says after a moment. His voice sounds even. “It was like everything else stopped mattering. I didn’t know I’d even told them until it was over.”

Severus looks out the window, into the little garden. It’s going to rain soon. It’s not as though he ever thought Regulus was still alive. He thinks about saying what he’s thought for a while, that the only ones who blame Black are the ones too stupid to know better, but he doesn’t. Black doesn’t need his forgiveness and he’s not about to give it.

Black continues a blankly. “I just . . . It was playing dirty.” He barks out a laugh, sharp in the growing darkness of the kitchen. “And now my best friend is dead because of me.”

Severus doesn’t’ know what to say. He’s only been responsible for the deaths of people he hated.

The thunder rolls in, deep and low, turning the glowing orange and yellow flowers rain-dark. “More tea,” Black says tensely.

Severus stands automatically and goes to the stove, still feeling on-edge and horrible.

Behind him, Black says suddenly, “I feel like I’m back at Grimmauld Place.”

Severus is tempted to say something about how Black doesn’t know how good he had it, with an expensive house and a well-respected family, but he knows from past experience that bringing up family never ends well for him, as Black has more ammunition. It’s unfair, though, being asked to keep his mouth shut, especially when Black talks about Regulus. He settles for, “You’ll be out of here soon enough, if you keep yourself reasonably stable. I realize that may be difficult for you.”

Something smashes behind Severus and he spins to find Black’s chai overturned and in Black’s place, an enormous, shaggy dog. It looks shockingly like a Grim.

Severus takes out his wand very slowly. “Black,” he mutters.

The dog cocks its head, huge and tense. A low whine starts in the back of its throat. The sound is horrible.

Severus sighs and puts his wand down. “Lupin warned me this might happen. Change back, damn it.”

Instead, the beast leaps at Severus, more fluid in its movements than a dog should be. It shoves him back against the counter, knocking the breath out of him.

And Severus holds on. His winds his hands in the dog’s fur, gripping as tightly as he can, trying to hurt it but not being quite strong enough. Bloody monster. It twists in his grasp, flailing and wind, scratching him with its claws. Severus doesn’t let go, though.

Then Black is wild in Severus’s arms, changing back into a man in a flurry of fur and motion. “Oh,” he says, sounding a little stunned. Then he looks right at Severus, a spark of something like anger deep in his eyes. “I know Regulus meant something to you, too. Maybe more than I let him mean to me.”

And that, in its own way, is a kind of apology, something he has never before gotten from Black. He just nods once, sharply.

*

That night, when the thunder is over, Severus lies in bed awake. He hasn’t been sleeping properly since the end of the war, the intentional exhilarating late nights of the last few years replaced by nervous energy and no place to direct it. Something behind his eyes aches.

He gets up and opens his door, hoping the creak of the hinges doesn’t wake Black. A moment later, though, Black emerges into the hall as well, barefoot and clad only in boxers. He tosses Severus a glare. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Not properly,” Severus admits, feeling somehow exposed in the dark hallway. “Not in months.”

Sirius nods, acknowledging kinship of circumstance if nothing else. “Yeah. Come on.”

They two of them make their way into the garden in silence, Severus feeling, as always, that he’s missed something of vital emotional importance.

The garden is beautiful in the dark. Severus looks up to see the moon, full, held in the sky like something in a bowl, the remaining clouds scudding around it as though it’s the center of a drain.

Severus wishes to hell that Lupin were here. There’s a smear of blue paint on Black’s cheek. And he’s smiling. Severus doesn’t know what any of it means.

*

They’ve been there a week and a half. Black and Severus are in the kitchen again—it seems the easiest place for Black to be, for some reason—and Severus is cooking. He’s been a good cook since he left school, much to everyone’s surprise, but they can hardly have expected him to order in. He’s not that specific brand of pathetic. Anyhow, cooking with magic is easy. Now, he cooks without, but that works as well. He stirs the stew he’s put together, leaving Black to his thoughts. They spend a lot of time like this, both silent.

Severus hears a pen scratching and turns to find that Black’s found a crossword puzzle somewhere and is slowly filling it in, his tongue pressed against his teeth. There’s something alive in the set of his shoulders, something Severus was missing, if missing is the right word.

“Where did you get that?” Severus asks, genuinely curious.

Black looks up and smiles. His face looks a little less thin. “Found it in the stuff Remus left. He’s always been rotten at them. Must have kept it for me.”

It’s the first they’ve really spoken about Lupin. Severus feels a sudden guilty urge to clear the air about Lupin and everything that was complicated surrounding him, but Black’s not yet well enough that he won’t rip Severus’s throat out. Besides, it would be selfish at the best of times.

Severus shocks himself by not being selfish these days. “Try this,” he says shortly, gesturing towards the pot.

Black nods amiably and crosses the kitchen, stocking feet carefully avoiding the rain-damp patches on the linoleum. “Mm,” he says when Severus offers the spoon. “It’s shit, actually. More salt.”

Severus considers telling him to go to hell. Instead, he gives the salt shaker a vicious little tap over the pot.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Black says, his voice low and careful.

Severus nods, smirking. “It’s a pity you aren’t there to help him. With your, er . . .” He gestures, taking in the small space in which Black had him pinned not long ago. But there’s something horribly honest in his voice by accident.

“You want me to help him,” Black says, tilting his head like he’s trying to figure Severus out.

 _Like a dog_ , Severus thinks.

*

A few weeks later, Black gets Severus flowers, purple, spiky things. When Severus returns home from shopping, they’re sitting on the table in a vase.

“Hey, those are for you,” Black says shortly, jabbing a thumb at the flowers.

Severus blinks. “What? Where did you get them?”

“The back garden.” Black grins. “Bet you didn’t think to look there. I started dinner. Bring the paper?”

“I’m going to ignore that string of offensively domestic remarks,” Severus says, confused, tossing the paper onto the table. They haven’t been getting the _Prophet_ delivered because Severus hasn’t wanted to know. Now he’s getting tense and tired of being cut off from the outside world. “Check the back. The section before your bloody crossword.”

Black flips to it. “Hm. Article about Remus.”

Severus has already read the thing, twice, back in the shop, but he can’t help looking over Black’s shoulder as he reads.

“Merlin,” Black mutters. “They really love to spin things. Anything for a story, right?”

Severus images that Black, with the family he’s got, must hate the press more than almost anyone. “It’s a bit overdramatic.”

“ _Werewolf Appointed To Ministry Office_ ,” Black snarls. “It’s more than overdramatic. It doesn’t bloody matter what he is, does it?”

“Not really, no,” Severus hears himself say.

Black turns to look at him. “You don’t hate him anymore.”

Severus nods. “No. I don’t.”

“Right,” Black says, “Then you can have the flowers.”

 **Remus**

After Severus joins the Order and before Regulus disappears, everything becomes very complicated.

Sirius has gone sullen and quiet since Severus joined them, probably being Severus is doing rather well. Remus tries to tamp down on how _pleased_ he feels whenever Severus succeeds in other mission, because even if he wants his friends to succeed, it’s not worth making Sirius angry.

Lily suggests to him that this might be slightly unhealthy. They’re on assignment together in East London, near where Snape lives, and Remus is participating in his least favorite activity: talking about her personal life.

“It’s just not right,” Lily says angrily. “You wouldn’t have tiptoe around his feelings just because he can’t get over a stupid childhood rivalry.”

Remus shrugs, wishing he were anywhere else. “You can’t exactly blame him, though. Severus _was_ a Death Eater. Not only that, he’s probably the one who got Regulus to join up.”

Lily tosses her hair. “We both know that’s ridiculous. Regulus joined up because his mad family convinced him it was a good idea. Sirius hates Severus for sleeping with his brother and for stealing James’s attention.”

Remus opens his mouth. Then he shuts it. That’s the wonderful thing about Lily: she’s willing to articulate everything Remus is too much of a coward to say.

*

Remus has too many conversations like that, and Sirius comes home silent too many nights. Everyone is wound up to the breaking point by the war, and Remus just wants a little bit of relief. So he starts taking missions with Snape.

One night, with the waning crescent moon hidden behind gathering thunderclouds, the two of them are staking out a known Death Eater safehouse.

“It’s fucking cold,” Severus mutters, rubbing his arms. He doesn’t usually talk when he’s working, especially not to Remus, but he’s been opening up a bit more lately.

“Yeah,” Remus says distantly. His scars ache, improbably. The moon tugs as them as it recedes. “How’re things, anyhow? At home?”

Severus gives him a look. “Why are you always asking that? It’s not your damn business.”

Remus sighs. “I just want to be friends, Severus. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Half-truths are, as always, what tumbles from his mouth without his permission.

For once, Severus doesn’t any anything about Remus trying to kill him. It’s taken months, but he’s gotten there. “Fine. Things at home are all right. And you?”

Remus has got to stop asking personal questions. “Fine,” he echoes. Sirius will be home by now, probably building up the fire and pacing restlessly, the way he always does when Remus is out. His eyes will be glittering in the dark, wild and worried.

“This is so stupid,” Severus says suddenly. “The dancing around each other.”

Remus winces. He’s not in the mood tonight to confront things, as if he ever is. “Yes. It’s stupid.” He doesn’t make a move; he just angles his body away from Severus, his shoulder a barrier between them.

Severus doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

*

Sirius has been gone for three weeks. No one really thinks he’s alive anymore. Remus almost feels like he should be used to this sort of thing, because their friends have been dying or disappearing around them for years now. That doesn’t make it any easier.

He takes to keeping watch with Severus out on the plains near his house, near where Sirius disappeared. There are dozens of aurors, as many as can be spared, combing every other possible place, and Remus can’t bring himself to go too far from home. What if Sirius comes back? What if, somehow, the people who kidnapped him return and Remus isn’t there? It’s not rational, but Remus is past rational. He feels the wolf clawing at the inside of his throat constantly.

“They’re putting a lot of effort into finding him,” Severus says. He’s standing next to Remus, his black hair swept back from his face by the wind. He looks as though he’s trying not to find something unpleasant. As usual.

Remus nods. “Well, he’s the secret keeper. They’d have to spare people, wouldn’t they?”

“It was meant to be comforting,” Severus returns testily. “They’re bound to find him.”

Remus nods, watching the sky. There are heavy gray clouds obscuring the moon, but in a moment they won’t be. In a moment, he’ll feel the slight headache of waxing gibbous, feel it along his skin the way he used to before Hogwarts, before Sirius.

“How are things with you?” Remus asks, for once out of politeness rather than genuine interest. He can’t bring himself to care, lately.

Severus frowns. “Fine. The work, you mean?”

That’s rarely what Remus means. “I meant besides that,” he ventures. “Personally. How are you?”

Severus laughs, pulling his cloak around him more tightly. “That isn’t . . . Bloody hell. I wish you wouldn’t.”

Remus nods, just feeling numb, and goes back to watching the sky.

*

It is late November.

Lily and James are dead.

Someone sends Remus a patronus about it and he’s still reeling with the shock of it when there’s a roaring outside and the sound of an engine cutting off.

Remus steps outside, not much caring who it is, until he sees.

“I don’t even know how to drive a bloody motorbike,” Severus says, sounding stunned. “Doesn’t fucking matter. Just—just take this.” He shoves the wrapped bundle at Remus.

“Harry,” Remus says, feeling unreal. “He’s alive.”

“And not just him.” Severus looks like it’s causing him physical pain to talk. “Lupin. It’s Black.”

Remus goes still, every instinct telling him not to hope, not to—he feels more ill than he’s felt on any full moon. “What.”

Severus is shaking, his face stained with dust and motorbike grease and blood, God, Remus hadn’t noticed the blood—“He’s alive. They left him at the Potters’ house. Alive. Not . . . not well, but alive. I called in a team to deal with it. It was beyond me.” He just sounds tired and shocked.

Remus shuts his eyes. “Please,” he says, not really knowing what he means. It’s too much. Losing James and Lily, getting Sirius back, but broken . . .

Severus reaches out awkward and just holds Remus, the smell of blood too intense in Remus’s sharp nose. He strokes Remus’s back once. “I don’t even know why they did that. Why would . . .”

Remus breathes Severus in, breathes in all the war and pain and loss, because there is nothing left of him, in this moment, for anything else. “A taunt,” he guesses. “They won, so they threw him back in our faces. _We don’t need to kill him, we have what we want_.”

Severus stills. “Lupin,” he says hoarsely.

Remus waits. He doesn’t have the energy to ask.

“The Dark Lord is gone.”

And in this instant, that doesn’t matter at all. “All right,” Remus says. He can accept that. He can accept anything.

*

Two weeks pass, and Sirius is still being held by the Ministry, in St. Mungo’s. There’s been talk of putting him in Azkaban until they can work out what part he played in James and Lily’s deaths, but nothing has come of it thus far. Remus hears all of this secondhand from a furious Severus, who seems to have become something of a war hero overnight.

“You saved Harry,” Remus says dully, as they’re sitting at his scarred kitchen table one evening.

Severus makes a derisive sound. “Chance, not goodwill, I assure you. Anyone would have done the same. Most people would have done more.”

Remus wonders if Severus blames himself for not getting there in time for James and Lily. He’s too tired to ask these things, though. As for Sirius, Remus deals with it as he deals with most of his problems: he just doesn’t think about it. “Mm,” he says, shifting his tea from one hand to the other.

Severus stands in one quick motion. “Lupin.”

Remus blinks up at him.

“I have to go,” Severus says shortly. “Dumbledore. He wants talk to me about . . . Well, there are a lot of things, as you can imagine.”

Remus hears all the words in between, the part where Severus has a life, where he can’t stay and take care of Remus’s mess anymore. “Of course,” he says.

Severus pauses at the door. “This isn’t over, Lupin. Don’t think it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Remus feels cold. He feels ancient.

Severus’s hair is in his eyes a little, and he looks angry and important and determined. “This thing between us. I know it’s not—Bloody Christ, Lupin. I know it can’t be anything now. But we have things that need clearing up between us. I’ll be seeing you.”

Remus is too tired, again, always. “I can’t,” he says.

“Be safe,” Severus says.

Remus’s heart nearly breaks. This is Severus, who two months ago was calling him a murderous monster. He allows himself a second to think that maybe he and Severus will settle things between them someday.

*

It’s May 8th. The moon is full. The cage the Ministry offers him isn’t a shock, really, although it isn’t pleasant. Remus is too tired and too used to it to be angry, and he misses Sirius, who would be angry for him.

The very kind and helpful Ministry people tell him that really, he’s a valued member of their council now, but just once a month, they have to lock him away. It’s for his own good.

The next morning, he feels ill and awful, and he slinks back to his tiny temporary London flat. He wants nothing more than to go running back to the country and be with Sirius, but this is for the best, in the long run. He needs to prove to the idiots in charge that he’s a good, stable, _human_ person, fully capable of helping to raise a child. He’ll let Severus take care of the rest. And of course, he’s been offered a stable job with steady money, and that’s hard for a man like him to turn down.

Of course, he’d love to say this trip isn’t selfish at all, but it is. He’s dreadful at dealing with grief, and he’d rather mourn Lily and James privately. He hasn’t had any time or space on his own since the war ended, and he’s nearly grateful to have it now. Preparing for the trial and fighting to visit Sirius and skirting around Severus were all exhausting pursuits, and now all he has to do is deal with government. That’s fine. He’s always gotten along well with authority figures. It’s better than dealing with Sirius.

The evening after the full moon, he still feels incredibly ill—it was hard, without Sirius there, but he’s been used to that for months—but he still forces himself to go to the council meeting. He’s a little bit surprised, even now, that they wanted him, but now isn’t a time when the Ministry can be picky, and they can’t deny the fact that he was one of their best aurors.

For the hundredth time, he wonders how Severus and Sirius are, furious with himself—as close to furious as he gets—for letting Severus put his own life on hold again for them. Then again, perhaps Severus hasn’t much else for a life left.

Today, the council room has a new clock, a silver one. Remus suspects that it’s on purpose, and he tries not to laugh. The government is being horrible to him in new ways, then.

*

Every night, Remus goes back to his flat and rearranges the few things he has and thinks about what he’s really doing here. He should be sticking by Sirius’s side no matter what, making sure he gets well as soon as possible. He shouldn’t be leaving it to Severus.

But he can’t. He’s always been a coward, no matter what Sirius and James told him so many times. Sirius is too painful for Remus to even look at now. Everything is difficult, to the point that trying to pull the whole Wizarding world back to its feet is easier.

The candle in his window flickers and sputters in the breeze from outside. Remus wonders how long he can, in good conscience stay away. He wonders how long he can stay away without needing Sirius.

He wonders how long he can stay away without needing Severus.

He wonders if he’s a horrible person, and the moon outside scrabbles for a hold in his chest, in his gut, in his throat. He’ll have to go home soon, or the cage won’t be enough next month. Perhaps they should have assigned him a healer, as well.

It doesn’t matter. One of them has to keep playing the part until they can get Harry back.

*

After nearly a month, he goes to Crouch, who handles such things, and says, “I want to go home.”

Crouch smiles, not a good sign. “I’m afraid you’re still needed here, Lupin. You’ve done very well, though. It won’t be much longer.”

Remus shakes his head with difficulty. “I’m afraid I wasn’t asking a favor, Bartemius. I was making a demand. You’ve kept me here quite long enough. I want to go home and see my . . . and see Sirius and Severus.”

The corner of Crouch’s mouth turns up. “Of course you do. However—”

“I’ve spoken to Dumbledore about it.” It’s a gamble, as he hasn’t yet, but he knows whose side Dumbledore is on, and he knows Crouch is afraid of Dumbledore.

“I see,” Crouch says sourly. “Naturally, I’ll have to speak to the Minister, as well . . .”

Remus nods, relaxing. The Minister will do whatever Dumbledore thinks is best, of course. “Thank you,” he says.

He hopes he’ll be coming back to less of a mess than he left, but he has no way of knowing. It wouldn’t be fair to owl ahead, because he’s got to least _pretend_ he has the ability to take on some of what’s going on with Sirius. They all expect him to be the responsible one, after all. That’s why he’s in London. He’s sometimes very grateful to Severus for seeing through all that.

*

The next morning, he apparates to the country, his shabby suitcase banging against his legs. The little cottage looks just as run-down as before, but twice as wonderful. He wonders, panicky for a second, if Severus and Sirius have killed each other and no one bothered to tell him. He hasn’t even been able to owl, after all, and they could have . . .

He shoves the door open.

Sirius is sitting at the kitchen table, fingers slick with yellow paint. He’s laughing. Severus is sitting next to him, smiling and shaking his head. They’re frozen in tableau for a second before they both look up, startled, at the intrusion.

Remus leans against the doorframe, weak with relief. “Oh,” he says. “I’m home.”

*

That night, Severus takes out the trunk with the gold he was given after the trial and they go to a little restaurant in a lamp-lit square not too far from the cottage. It’s the first time Sirius has been out since the trial, Severus tells him, and Remus can tell. Sirius’s eyes are still a little too dark around the edges, although Remus can see some of the strangeness receding.

“I’m not giving him the potions anymore,” Severus says over the bread rolls at the outdoor patio of the café.

“I’m right here, you ass,” Sirius says, and Remus is shocked to hear real affection in his voice. Maybe going away was the best thing Remus ever did.

Severus sighs. “Yes, well, you weren’t telling him. In any case, I think it was doing more harm than good. The same with the legilimency. For both of us. But I’ve—we’ve been trying other things, and I think he’ll be all right.”

Remus nods, amazed. “I rather thought you two would just kill each other without me there,” he says.

“Thanks, then,” Sirius shoots back, grinning at Remus. The grin is weak, but it’s genuine.

The warm, late May breeze blows through the square, rustling Remus’s menu and making the candles on the table gutter. “And what now?” Remus asks. Someone has to be responsible, after all, and he’s just spent a month running away.

“We get Harry back,” Sirius says quickly. “That’s important. I think we can prove that I’m, you know, sane enough.” He grins again, wicked and dangerous. Remus’s chest hurts with relief.

“I can help,” Severus says, rolling his eyes. “Of course.”

 _Of course_. When, Remus wonders, did this become easy? Of course, there’s still the other question. “There’s something else,” he says.

Severus looks uncomfortable. “Maybe I should leave you two alone to talk.”

“Don’t be stupid, you coward,” Sirius bites off, and Severus’s eyes flare, but he shuts his mouth. “Moony, look—I know you’ve fancied him for a bit. I wasn’t happy about it, but.”

Severus looks a little horrified. “Oh, _don’t_. Look, Lupin, things got a bit—they got _weird_. Black’s only being this way about me because I helped him get—”

Remus laughs. “You haven’t actually talked about this, have you?”

Sirius and Severus look at each other guiltily. “Sort of,” Sirius says, sounding somewhat chagrined. “I mean, we tried.”

“That’s not true,” Severus mutters.

“Of course,” Remus says. “Look, I’m just as bad as you two at talking about, you know, feelings and things. But I think we do need to work out what, um . . . .” He loses his nerve.

“Snape is staying,” Sirius says, abruptly and surprisingly. “I mean, if he wants.” He glances at Severus, who looks shocked. “I want him to. He helped. He didn’t have to, but he did. And he’s been in my head. I want him to stay.” He shrugs helplessly at Remus. “Fuck the rules, eh?”

Remus nods slowly. “Er. Severus?”

“Oh, all right,” Severus snaps. “If I must.” He looks pleased, though. “But honestly, you two, if they won’t give legal rights to a werewolf and his partner, they certainly won’t give them to the three of us.”

“I’m not purposing to you,” Sirius informs him. “Well, yet. Besides, you’re a fucking war hero now. They’ll give you whatever you want.”

Remus busies himself with buttering his roll before he has to see them get into a fight. _This could work_ , he tells himself. It’s worth a try, anyway. Maybe they can at least last through dessert.


End file.
